May 23rd, 2024
Im down bad. Selling up and moving to Argentina seems like the only option.Living out the rest of my days as an alpaca farmer up in the Patagonias.
Currently sat listening to arctic monkeys in my apartment, drinking black tea with honey. Things are nice. But I'm down bad.
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thirteen update 💕💍🍽️🩸
chapter 5: february
summary:
“These things do not concern you,” Papa told him flatly. “I will run my household however I see fit. Your concerns are with your schoolwork and your modeling.”
Blood pumped heavy and fast through Adrien’s heart. That wasn’t—fair. Concern was about all he was capable of these days.
“And what about Maman?” Adrien asked, exhausted, reckless. “May I be concerned about Maman?”
Something shifted on Papa’s face, all his emotions smothered in stone.
excerpt:
The best day of Adrien’s life was eight months and six days ago. No contest.
It was a crisp kind of cold that day, the Paris sky blooming a bright and brilliant blue overhead. The sun pierced right through the brisk February air, a shock of spearmint and adrenaline in his veins. He couldn’t stop widening his eyes, couldn’t stop smiling. The city was so alive. Strains of love songs poured out of open cafe doors and onto tourists, their hands full of red roses and lovers’ hands. The cobblestones sang with the patters of paired footsteps all down the street. It was the city of love always, but today especially. Today Adrien was made of the stuff, just bursting with it.
And, like every other day in the running for the best of his life, Marinette was there.
“You’d better not pull anything,” she warned, tightening her grip on his hand as they passed by a tourist couple looking very… engrossed with each other in the middle of the street. “And—and if you do, you have to tell me. Right now.”
Marinette’s brow was lightly furrowed, the bridge of her nose just barely scrunched up. Her hair was pulled half-back with a pink ribbon, matching the shade of the skirt she wore beneath her velvety black peacoat. Her Mary Janes clipped anxiously down the road and Adrien’s heart danced and swelled and spun in his chest.
“Pull something? Me?” Adrien stepped aside so their arms were outstretched, and then pulled at Marinette’s fingers, sending her tumbling back into his arms. She looked up at him, trying to frown, smiling. He grinned. “I would never.”
“I’m serious.” Marinette untangled herself from his arms and interlocked her fingers again with his. Her hand was the warmest thing in the world. She looked at him sternly, wagging a finger in his face. “I need to know so I can—prepare. Especially if it’s something crazy. No funny business.”
“Marinette,” he moaned, draping a wounded hand over his heart. One corner of his mouth quirked into a smile, eyes darting to meet her gaze. “You think I’m funny?”
She groaned. “I think you‘re—I think you’re ridiculous, and sappy, and romantic, and I think it’s Valentine’s Day in Paris”—this part she shouted, which drew a few stares—“and I think you’re about to take me on an insanely adorable date, and I think Alya took me to get my nails done last week—!”
“You’re so thoughtful,” Adrien remarked, swinging their hands back and forth. “And observant. What a beautiful mind you have, my lady.”
“You have to tell me,” Marinette insisted. She stopped them on the street and frowned at him, pink flushing the apples of her cheeks. “Is it—are you—?”
“Hm?” Adrien murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Marinette’s cheeks went ablaze.
“I—you—you know what I mean!” she spluttered. “Are you gonna…you know!”
He tilted his head to the side. “Am I…?”
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Im absolutely losing my mind over this ep tbh.
Ylfa going into this horrifying purgatory status waiting for the Woodsman to complete her story but he never comes. The Wolf patiently waiting with her because he knows that's how the story is SUPPOSED to go. And when he sees that something is wrong and that these weeks of waiting are killing this little girl that is meant to be saved and live happily ever after, he gives himself up and finds a way for her to live because he cares so much and wants this girl he's been telling this story with to survive
Death loving and protecting Life
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Transcript:
Fia: Okay, I will help in whatever way I can. ["Irina" begins playing.] I can picture her very vividly still. I don't know whether it is true, or if I have made up a version of her, but she's still so strong in my mind.
Sienna: Do you sense her arrival?
Murph: Uh, and-- and looks at you, Fia.
Fia: Do I?
Murph: Um, and just then… you guys see a figure. Deep in the distance, in the maze of trees. ["Irina" begins playing. Fia gasps softly.] She's radiating with magical energy, surrounded by these swirling green sprites.
Fia: It just kind of flowed from her very effortlessly. In fact, when I knew her, I… ah, I did not have a spell to my name really. I-- I-- I was not magical at all. The most magical thing about me was her probably.
Murph: Yeah, Fia, you have this strong, strong memory of this magical girl that you grew up with in this very un-magical place. Just this burst of color in this grey world.
Murph: She wears a multicolored cloak that she's clearly made herself.
Murph: She has the looks of like, a bandit. Like, kind of like [Emily: Yeah.] patchwork clothes and things like that. [Emily: Yeah.] Of-- of like somebody who's like stolen armor.
Fia: Okay.
Henry: So it's gonna be like that.
Fia: This is gonna be a problem because I actually really like you, because you seem sweet, because you made your own clothing, so…
Emily: I am going to just…. ooh, I really don't wanna hurt her.
Murph: And, um, she's kind of looking around. It looks like she probably just plane shifted here, and is a little bit like-- she's like staring around in wonder. Because, you know, even as somebody who's inherently magical she probably hasn't been to groves before. Um, or if she has, they're still beautiful every time you go to one. So, she looks around.
Emily: Okay. I think I-- I take a moment to enjoy the pleasure of seeing her before she sees me.
Fia: She is like a pressed flower in my mind.
Murph: Yeah! You see uh, she smiles. She's got these, uh, little tusks that pop out, just like you Fia.
Emily: Does she still wear her hair long?
Fia: She loved honey cakes, but she would never finish one. She always gave the rest to the birds. Um, she had long silver hair that sometimes I would braid, but she didn't know how to braid her own hair. How funny is that! Sometimes I wonder, did you want me to braid your hair and that's why you never learned?
Murph: She still wears her hair very long. She's got, uh, her silver hair goes all the way down her back.
Fia: Okay-- ooh! Thank you. Silver is my favorite color. Yes, let's do this!
Emily: I think then I can't help myself. I say, like--
Fia: I'm glad you kept it long.
Murph: Um, you-- you-- you say--
Fia: It's such a beautiful color. There should be as much of it as possible.
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I love Met Gala season because I can come on here and see hundreds of pictures of beautiful, near-identical strangers dressed in either physics- and logic-defying fantastical fabric sculptures or the most boring 2008-ass promwear imaginable, with captions like "I can't believe they keep inviting Emily Goncharov, she always looks like she wandered out of the kitchen for a glimpse at the gentlefolk as they arrive in their carriages for the grand ball and she's not even on theme" or "ugh Greebo Quixote's a nepo baby and he knows what he did last summer, but that cloak+dagger combination has me weak in the uterus"
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for every one misogynistic man on the naddpod subreddit saying emily shouldn't be allowed to do cool stuff cause she's a girl, there are 100 lesbians on tumblr dot com who will defend her with their lives
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May 21, 2024
Hi void! I'm down bad. Broke my ankle, and down bad. That's all.
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